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COP^IGirr DEPOSIT. 



FIR TREES AND 
FIREFLIES 



BY 

CAROLYN CROSBY (WILSON) l^^^^ 



CS3 



G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 

NEW YORK AND LONDON 

^e Iknicfterbocftct press 
1920 



.1^ 



[iO< 



^^ 



Copyright, 1920 

BY 

G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 



^\SS 




Printed in the United States of America 



/iaV^ 



'''^" -7 1921 
0)CIA608261 



^0 
HENRY C. LINK 



Some of the poems included in this volume 
have appeared in Vanity Fair, The New Republic, 
The Pagan, and the Vassar Miscellany Monthly. 
I thank the Editors for their permission to 
reprint them here. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Mm Winter ....... 1 

The Patchwork Quilt ..... 2 

The Window 3 

Houseless. ....... 4 

On the Arrogance of Lovers ... 6 

On Hearing Schumann's "Kindersehnen" , 6 

Romance ........ 7 

Amantium Irae ...... 8 

Roads ........ 9 

Epitaphs for Young Sinners and Old Saints . 10 
December . . . , . . .11 

I Dust Books ....... 12 

To a Child in Church ..... 13 

Shopping on Fifth ...... 14 

Two Songs for my Child .... 16 

Late March ....... 18 

Meeting ........ 19 

The Return, 1918 20 

[vii] 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Niagara ........ 25 

Thoughts in an Art Gallery .... 26 

The Funeral ....... 31 

Confidante ....... 34 

Intrusion ........ 35 

Evening ........ 36 

Dawn ........ 37 

Love on a Pedestal ..... 38 

Hide and Seek ...... 39 

Love Songs ....... 40 

Haunted ........ 43 

MoTiLS ........ 45 

In Other Springs ..... 47 

A Draught so Precious .... 48 

Your Love has Come Between us Like a 

Bar 49 

Once When we Stood Together on a Hill 50 

I Found no Beauty in me Till you Came . 51 

There Was a Day I Could not Find you. 

Dear 52 

Who Would have Guessed .... 53 

"You Are my Dream," you Said. . . 54 

When I have Followed Day-Long, Dusty 

Ways 55 

r viii 1 



CONTENTS 



Imperfection ..... 

Were tou but Here, Companion of my 
Heart ...... 



One Day I Gave you an Old Memory 
How Often have we Touched Love's Bound 



Hurt not my Heart with too much Beauty, 
Night ...... 



Since Words Are Not 

What without Laughter Were our Love 

To-NlGHT ...... 

One Lack I Have .... 

Was ever Love so Wonderful as this? 

Today the Rivers in the Streets Ran 
Blue ...... 



Sometimes when through Resounding 
Streets we Go .... 

With What Dull Drugs 

Love Cannot be Believed . 

I am at Rest in you .... 



PAGE 

56 

57 

58 

59 

60 
61 

62 
63 
64 

65 

66 
67 
68 
69 



IX 



FIR TREES AND FIREFLIES 



MID WINTER 

¥ F I were God, I'd mould hills rolling low, 

Smooth them and shape them, sift them 
deep with snow, 
And scatter them with furze that they might lie 
Softly, against the wide deep-tinted sky. 
In slow caress my forming hand would linger, 
Then a swift finger, 

Down some long slope, half carelessly would break 
A jagged course for melting snows to take, 
The outscooped valley's length they'd run, and 

then. 
Skirting new hills, go slipping out of ken; 
And distanced far, a low-hung sun I'd light, 
And paint blue shadows on the rose-touched 

white; 
Then, wearied, put aside my colours and my clay 
And fashion paradise and man on some less 

perfect day. 



in 



THE PATCHWORK QUILT 

1_JER withered, fluttering hands are still. 

Lean closer yet; there is no breath. 
The waxy, yellowed brow grows chill. 
And we stand futile before death. 

Yet say no sermons over her. 

Let never stitch on shroud be spent; 

These patterned scraps that cover her 
Are epitaph and monument. 

How often I have seen her gaze. 
Knowing how soon she was to go. 

Over her chronicle of days 
Spelled out in bits of calico. 

This blue she knew her eyes would match, 
In this white muslin was a bride; 

Under this sober chambray patch 

Her heart broke when her first-born died. 

Stretched quietly upon this bed. 
How fitting she should sleep at last 

From toe to chin serenely spread 
With pleasant patterns of her past. 

[2] 



THE WINDOW 

A LL day I wait and stare, 

Or drowse with lowered lid; 
No passer finds me fair, 
Or dreams of beauty hid. 

None wonders what I do. 
All curtained and discreet; 

I am for looking through 
Upon the grey-stoned street. 

But when the sun stoops low 
Each pauses to behold: 

"Are you but glass aglow. 
Or are you truly gold?" 

I frame, when sunset dies, 
Hearthfire and candlelight: 

" Your lamplit beauty cries 
Above the stars of night." 

All day I wait and stare. 
Or drowse with lowered lid; 

No passer finds me fair. 
Or dreams of beauty hid. 

[3] 



HOUSELESS 

^^UR house is built in many streets; 
Against full many a garden wall 
Our hollyhocks are bright in spring. 
Our ivy reddens in the fall. 

"These are our poplars, candle-straight." 
"And there our green and sloping roof." 

"Here from our mammoth chimney swirls 
The blue smoke, lazy and aloof." 

We smile on gaping stranger folk 
Whom we have never seen before, 

Who draw our ruffled curtains back. 
Or slam our dark and polished door. 

Evening and home. We are content, 
Whose windows look from many a hill. 

These attic stairs are all our own, 

Our own this scuflfed and hollowed sill. 

These four rooms hold, more spaciously 
Than staked and mortgaged frontal feet, 

Gable and garden, sill and hearth, 

Our house that's built in many a street. 

[41 



ON THE ARROGANCE OF LOVERS 

T OVERS have said joy never was begun 

Till love was learned; O Chanteclers of 
bliss. 
Was there no glorious rising of the sun 
Unlicensed by the summons of your kiss? 
Have you not tracked still waters with white 

foam. 
Walked with a brown road to its dusty end, 
Heard music, read an uncut book at home. 
Or sat before the hearth-jBre with a friend? 

I am a lover too; yet in my thought 
Linger the hundred happy hours I stored 
From all the placid years before you brought 
This last and crowning treasure to my hoard. 
And often I recall, half wistfully. 
The morning vigour that's in going free. 



[5] 



ON HEARING SCHUMANN'S "KINDER- 

SEHNEN" 

/CHILDREN woven of song. 

Thread through delicate thread, 
Rose and silver and blue. 
But never red. 

Dance in decorous ring, 

Plead and question and dream, 

Follow the phantom sleep. 
But never scream. 

Child-as-he-ought-to-be, 

You in forgotten days. 
Dainty and good and clean 

Halo and haze. 

But never child of your own. 

Ruddy of flesh and blood. 
Querulous, wicked, beloved. 

And smeared with mud. 



[6] 



ROMANCE 

npHERE is a magic borne of names and 
places 

And things remote, so that their mention 
cloaks 
With a proud glamour distant commonplaces, 

Makes personages out of simple folks. 
Lycidas, Mignon, Capri, Mangalore, 

Palanquin, cuirasse, teakwood, argosy, 
Enrich the pageantry of ancient lore. 

Unchallenged by their drab reality. 

We also are remote; do not tomorrow 

And yesterday look quaintly on today? 
And could not Jersey's dingy alleys borrow 

Rare pavements from some dreamer of 
Cathay? 
Oh, for one hour to shake my tambourine. 

Or tip, unmoved, my shining samovar. 
That I might guess some beauty in this scene. 

Saloon, and ferry boat, and trolley car. 



[^ 



AMANTIUM IRAE 

"Y^OTJ have forgotten that we quarrelled? 

You greet me with a casual kiss; 
And all the dreary day's despairing 
Is nothing to the drab of this. 

For every tear you left me shedding 
Was rainbowed with expectancy. 

The deeper grew the hurt, the sweeter 
I dreamed our healing it should be. 

But you have come serenely whistling. 

Dropping a dutiful caress. 
Is life so long we can be wasting 

So rare a chance for happiness? 



[8] 



ROADS 

T> OADS do not run, they only lie, 

Each inch beneath its inch of sky 
Chained endlessly, although they yearn 
To race beyond a tempting turn. 
Rain, faUing leaves, and grinding wheel 
Their patient, upturned faces feel. 
Dreaming all day, as dream roads must, 
Oi unreturning bits of dust. 



[9] 



EPITAPHS FOR YOUNG SINNERS AND 
OLD SAINTS 



'T'HIS is our hell, whose love of life was lust, 

To lie here choked and manacled by dust, 
While careless on the moulded sod above 
Sit those who laugh and kiss and talk of love. 



II 



This is our heaven; to sleep, to sleep, to sleep, 
Till spring and sun awake us; then we creep 
Up, up to life, stretch, breathe, drink in the 

rain. 
Whiten with frost, and drowse and rot again. 



[10] 



DECEMBER 

T AY thy white cloth and hght the candles, 
Winter, 

That on thy crystal and thy silver shine; 
Too long has the abandoned earth awaited 

Such gracious hospitality as thine. 

Hiding from echoing streets and empty pas- 
tures — 
Tempestuous Autumn swept this room so 
bare — 
I heard through shutters drawn thy silent 
coming. 
Flung wide my door and found thy beauty 
there. 

Festoon thy jSrs and thy red berries cluster, 
And tip the jflask that spills thine azure wine. 

Deep be the draught and mine the lips that 
draw it 
At thy spread table when the toast is thine. 



[11] 



I DUST BOOKS 

"V/'OU that are yellowed as letters of old lovers, 
Thumb-soiled, and worn as a child's first 
shoe, 
I spin your dusty pages and clap your crumbling 
covers ; 
Once the day was dead that held not you. 

Then uncut page was hawthorn bud at morn- 
ing, 
Love's word unsaid, and a fresh path's lure. 
Then good friend and I were deaf to midnight's 
warning 
Alone beneath the lamp till the dawn was 
sure. 

Old friends, forgive that I whisk across your 
faces. 
Hasty as a stranger, no word said; 
Slip you one by one back into your places . . . 
Socks must be darned and dinners must be 
laid. 

[12] 



TO A CHILD IN CHURCH 

■pRECT and rigid little head 

Dawning above the high-backed pew, 
With wispy ringlets haloed 
And shell ears that the sun shines through, 

I know the solemn saucer eyes, 

Which seem with reverence to record 

The pompous platitudinous lies 

With which we dare address our Lord; 

While yet behind their silent mask 
Your spirit's feet unhampered go 

Through fairy forests, or you bask 

In pathless dreams that children know. 

And once when we were bent in prayer 
And goodness irked you overmuch, 

I saw you toss your thistle hair 

And squirm from the parental clutch. 

Our anthems, seeking God on high. 

Echo and die in the dim arch. 
While God is in your wicked eye, 

And crumpling up your Sunday starch. 

[131 



SHOPPING ON FIFTH 

"XyTELOUR de laine or duvetyn, 

Peachbloom or frost glow, tinseltone? 
Or shall I forfeit every one 
For vellouise or velveteen? 

There's silvercloth without a flaw, 
Charmeuse and taffeta — and yet 
There's Tricotine and Tricolette, 

There's Daphne and there's Dorisoie. 

How shall my eyes select a shade 

From sapphire, orchid, beige or bisque? 
Or shall they further seek and risk 

Burnt orange, fuschia, rose or jade? 

Prodigal wraps! Must I determine? 
Beaver or moleskin, squirrel, mink. 
All pleasant things — and yet I think 

Chinchilla's softness best, or ermine. 

Rugs! See the silky Candahar, 

Amritzer, Arak, Savalan, 

Sarouk, Serapi, Laristan, 
Each lovelier than the last by far. 
[14] 



SHOPPING ON FIFTH 

For formal banquet let me see 

My board with creamy Lennox set; 
But when my hearth-fire friends are met, 

These Wedgwood bits will grace my tea. 

Only some trifles now; these hose, 

Silken, some Rembrandt-ribbed, some clocked; 

A blouse, hand-fagotted or smocked, 
And silver shoes with slender toes. 



Enrapt she gazes, strokes and picks. 
Come Cinderella, buy your thread, 
Your gingham and your loaf of bread — 

Cars are so crowded after six. 



[15] 



TWO SONGS FOR MY CHILD 
I 

TO THE BACK OF HIS NECK 

T KNOW a honeyed hollow 
No other mortal knows. 
All gold with fairy grasses 
And white with fairy snows; 

Sun warm, and fresh as morning, 
And silken-sloped and deep. 

Wherein, for lips to wake them, 
A thousand kisses sleep; 

A dear and hidden hollow 

Which passing years must needs 
Make harsh at last with thistles 
And redolent of weeds. 



16 



TWO SONGS FOR MY CHILD 
II 

OTHER CHILDREN 

Any grimy urchin now 

Met by chance upon the street, 
Glancing up, may wring my heart 
And make my pulses skip a beat. 

Have I never seen before 

Twisted limb or overwise. 
Soiled and starving spirit peer 

Out of furtive, hungry eyes? 

Never cared, until I knew 

You, whom chance has spared each scar 
You, who must grow sweet and straight, 

Round and sound as apples are? 

Blindness must be bitter crime 
Since such punishment must fall; 

Now a child has healed my sight 
I must suffer for them all 



[17] 



LATE MARCH 

npHE broken back of winter sags 

Under the languorous load of spring; 
Only the smirched and trodden rags 
Of full and dazzling garments cling, 
Her splintered voice complains and mutters; 
Her maudlin tears flood all the gutters. . . . 

Sun, with one merciful, hot breath 
Scorch this old, suffering hag to death. 



[18] 



MEETING 

T^EN minutes more, and the long month is 

past. 
It's at the box office you said we'd meet. 
This act would drag for me, however fleet 
It went — I never saw a duller caste. 
Strange — now the month seems to have gone 

quite fast 
For all its length. I wonder how we'll greet. 
Everyone's crying — why does my heart beat 
So — right out loud? The curtain — oh, at last! 

Is that you? No — or that? — or — no, you're 

there ! 
Don't crush my hand — Your lips — Oh I'm quite 

well. 
Come, dear, you can't just stand all day and 

stare. 
No, the sill tripped me. What? Too glad to 

tell! 
Has Broadway grown so bright new-washed with 

rain? 
Or is it Just the touch of you again? 
[191 



THE RETURN, 1918 

"PLOWERS are on the mantle; in the grate 

A new fire crackles; there's a table bright 
With bride's new best — silver and spotless 

white, 
Candles rose shaded; for herself a plate 
And one for him — no more. A door swings to, 
A rush of savory odors in its wake. 
She mends some imperceptible mistake 
In the board's laying, and checks off anew 
"Celery — olives — nuts.'" The clock's hands 

crawl. 
The child cries faintly in a distant room. 
She runs; a mirrored, shy glimpse of her bloom 
Runs with her. Then the bell rings in the 

hall. 

At first there is no need of words — caress 
Stifles what speech or silence might have been. 
And then there is the baby to be seen — 
"We'll wake him just this once. Here, Blessed- 
ness, 

[20] 



THE RETURN, 1918 

Your Daddy's come. It's not polite to yawn 
When formal introduction's taking place. 
Well — go to sleep then. Hasn't he a face 
To make a cherub jealous? But let's run 
Or all our party dinner will be cold." 

The first meal in their own home! Gusts of 

speech, 
Gay with inconsequent laughter burst from 

each, 
A thousand trifles to be heard and told. 
There is a grateful tribute in his eyes 
To her fresh beauty. This hour was his dream 
Through many horrors — why then should it 

seem 
A thousand miles between them? Dull surprise 
Appalls him — unease at her eager gaze 
Seeking him with that bright expectant look 
A child gives an unopened fairy book. 
Then he is lost again in her quaint ways. 

The dishes are all wiped, and every knife 
Laid neatly in it's case. His pipe is lit. 
The candles have winked softly out. They sit 
Before the fire — as any man and wife. 
This is the hour for deeper words, but each 
Is more than silent, and between them creep 
Fears, chill and dark; for in the silence leap 
[21] 



THE RETURN, 1918 

No thoughts that touch and take the place of 

speech. 
Each has gone back to whirlwind brevity 
Of wooing and of wedding. How unreal 
The mad adventure, and the brave ideal 
That would not look beyond itself to see 
Two strangers in the firelight, side by side : 
"What carefree, wilful children we were then! 
And has she changed — or is she still the same.? 
I wonder if she'll grumble, or be game 
When I come home like ordinary men, 
Grouchy and tired .-^ Or if I don't provide 
The way she likes — and no one waves the flag, 
And pulls the good old-fashioned 'hero' gag 
That caught her in the first place. Oh, if I'd 
Known then all I know now! But it's no go. 
There's the boy now to think of. If I'd come 
Crippled, or blind, or shell-shocked deaf and 

dumb 
It wouldn't be so hard. At least she'd know 
How little I have left in me to give — 
But when it's only that my mind's a hell 
Of bloody pictures that I couldn't tell 
And can't forget. — They shouldn't let men live 
With things like that behind. Or if I must — 
And if my brokenness must have a mate — 
Then one of those wrecked girls of France that 

wait 

[22] 



THE RETURN, 1918 

In shamed despair for lovers that are dust. 
At least, while we sat silent, hand in hand 
Our dark thoughts could go stumbling. But 

this child 
Who never saw pain — she is half defiled 
By my mere thought. She'll never under. 

stand. 
Why^ — it's a wonder that she hasn't yet 
Plucked at my sleeve and gaily prompted me 
To 'tell her all about it' — that will be 
The worst of all.— If I could just forget!" 
She touches him, "It's come!" He sets his 

jaw 
Before he can look down to her. Her look 
No longer seeks him as a fairy book. 
There is a hope there that he never saw 
In any eyes — a light that cleanses him. 
"When the boy came, death was so near that 

pain 
And I were friends, since pain meant life again. 
You have been nearer death, known hours more 

grim. 
Braved greater things, but some day — if you 

can — 
Tell me — and I will understand, I think. 
And if I share it with you and don't shrink 
Then it might help a little. There's no man 
Strong enough to remember all alone." 
[23] 



THE RETURN, 1918 

The great sobs wrack him, and the fear and 

care 
Slide from him — with light hands she smooths 

his hair. 
And the room glows — though all the fire is 

gone. 



[24] 



NIAGARA 

"piCNIC papers and iron rails, smoke smudged 
sky and a captured beast, 

Lithe and terrible, angry voiced; gaud bedecked 
and snowy fleeced. 

Cheap, small people come by night; mock hom- 
age bringing, they stand and stare 

Vacant eyed at the insolent glare of calcium lights 
on foam-pure hair. 

While a listless moon hangs pale in air. 

Snapping the shutters of Brownie 2's, have you 

no fear, you smug and good. 
Fear of a captive's regal strength docilely making 

your breakfast food? 



[25] 



THOUGHTS IN AN ART GALLERY 



ON SILENCE 

T PAD along the swept and polished floor, 

Stealthy and rubber-heeled; I meet and spy 
One not so fortunately heeled as I, 
Who teeters on his toes and creaks the more. 
We eye each other slantwise and pass by. 

I meet a friend; our whispered greeting stirs 
No echo in the pale impartial glare 
That skylights shed in corners bleakly bare. 

I go my noiseless way and she goes hers. 
If I should scream, would anybody care? 

This agony of silence, does it aid 

The straining sight? Do weird, relentless 

looms 
Fashion the unseen web that stills these 
rooms? 

[26] 



THOUGHTS IN AN ART GALLERY 

Or are the cluttering sounds that man has made 
Swept out each day before industrious brooms? 

Shall I be bound by such a senseless spell? 

Once and for all this vacuum I'll shatter. 

I'll scuff my feet and chortle as I chatter. 
I'll end the thing with one ear-splitting yell. 

Brass buttons gleam and I debate the matter. 

The stern attendant notes my furtive ways; 

No studied nonchalance can him deceive. 

He knows I fear him; and I half believe, 
Slinking away from his accusing gaze, 

I have a Mona Lisa up my sleeve. 



[271 



II 

ON BEGINNINGS 

I round a corner; all agog I stand; 

Washington crosses here the Delaware. 

And these phenomena confront my stare, 
"Paul and Virginia" and "The Helping Hand." 

Originals? I never thought they were. 

I somehow thought — when I have thought at 
all— 
They spread amoeba-like. With pained regret 
I see my life's convictions all upset. 

It's just like coming in an empty hall 
On the grand-uncle of the Alphabet. 



[28] 



Ill 

ON BEAUTY 

Pink, pulpy Cupids; Psyches all too nude; 

Smug, sallow saints; sunsets of cotton wool; 

Acres of canvas for one prisoned bull; 
Madonnas that eternally force food 

On babes already obviously full. 

Wall after wall, with sinking heart I scan 
The stuffy, tarnished canvases I hate, 
Then find obscured (the hour is growing late) 

The clear lines and fresh tintings of a man 
Too far from putrefaction to be great. 

By what perversion do we worship them, 
Cupid and saint, the bovine in its stall .'^ 
Dared we the truth, who would not burn them 
all 

And set that thing of beauty like a gem 
To glow unrivalled on the sombre wall? 



[29] 



IV 

ON EXHIBITIONS 

The newest school? Creation re-created — 
All forms and colours known to heaven or earth 
In chaos far too terrible for mirth. 

Art's Bolshevism. Or have I underrated? 
Is this indeed the agony of birth? 



[30] 



THE FUNERAL 

WHEN I am dead 

Lay me not straitly in a lidded bed, 
A dark cell, satin walled — 
(Satin has always set my nerves on edge.) 
Heap me not with the heavy-scented pledge 
Of pallid lilies, freesias' waxy bloom — 
Narcissus (Always in a room 
Their breath has sickened me.) 

Let not my friends be called 
(And others who have never been my friends) 
To crowd, uneasy, in a close, hushed gloom 
Of shutters which outprison sun and breezes 
While in the corner where he has been shoved. 
Suave and black gloved 
And glad. 

The undertaker servilely attends. 
And one I hardly knew 
Pays tribute to the things I did not do. 
Chants comfort with a solemn-voiced appeal. 
For grief, he says, that no one ought to feel. 
[31] 



THE FUNERAL 

For restlessly, I'll tickle a child's nose until he 

sneezes 
And if the music's strain be slow and drear 
I'll break the wailing voice of one who sings, 
And snap maliciously the viol's strings. 
Low in the ear 
Of one who was most near 
I'll whisper whimsies not to be withstood. 
Till a shrill giggle, sending tension slack. 
Pulls it so swiftly taut it waits to crack. 
Those who have loved me not 
I'll smile to hear, 
In a dry agony, 

Strangely embarrassed, praying for a tear; 
But the red eyes of those whom I held dear 
Shall shame themselves — and me. 

Rattle me not, a grim procession's head, 

On rough roads to the still, green covered plot 

Where the dead 

Lie and rot. 

When I am dead 

Give me the kind, swift flames to set me free. 

And in the empty room I leave behind. 

In the spilled sun set roses red. 

And let a lazy wind 

Drift the light curtains gladly 

To and fro. 

[32] 



THE FUNERAL 

Though, 

If I should be elected 

To be dissected, 

I should be interested and proud. 

Oh ! anything is better than monuments erected 

To a shroud. 



[33] 



CONFIDANTE 

T WHO walk in the dark, 

Alone beyond all knowing, 
Must watch to-night 
Glad, sheltered light 
In strangers' windows glowing. 

Unto me, hungering 
With unfulfilled desires, 
The keen wind brings 
Warm scent of things 
That brew by strangers' fires. 

I find my darkened house. 

Silent and all alone. 

And my sup of bread 

That is dry and dead, 

And no candle save mine own. 



[34] 



INTRUSION 

npHE very soul of beauty I had caught 

In my two hands, a shimmering, fluttering 
thing, 
I worshipped, wondering 
What words of mine should form its bands, 
Matching and weighing, polishing 
Each phrase, to string 
Upon a silver thought. 

A knock upon my door, 

And I stretched out my hand to greet 

A friend, and so released my captive: fleet 

As breath it fled and will return no more. 

Dear friend — I love you — but 
Why did you come 
Just then into my room? 



[351 



EVENING 

YVTHEN Evening first, rising from day-long 

rest, 

Cups her slow hands 'round Day's too 

dazzling light. 

Still through her fingers slips a radiance bright, 

Reddening and spreading in the darkening west. 

She sighs, and through the fragrant dusk the 

breeze 
Makes whispered music in the quivering trees. 
Then strengthening Night snuffs out the Day's 

last spark. 
And sets the first star shimmering in the dark. 



[361 



DAWN 

A T the feet of his lady the moon 

Lies the night, 
Aquiver and breathless and bright 
With the light 
Of her smile on his face 
And the shadows her slim fingers trace. 
And now she is gone and he lies 
Black browed and brooding and still, 
And over the hill 
From afar 

The clear morning star 
Burns but to set him athrill. 
But the night steals away, 

Seeking his lady, and leaves the star, paling, to 
day. 



[37] 



LOVE ON A PEDESTAL 

TNTO your arms you have taken 

A dream that is not I. 
The lips you have kissed are the lips of a wraith; 
To a shadow love you have pledged your faith 
While my heart's heart must stand by. 



[38] 



HIDE AND SEEK 

T KNOW the taste of love on the lips; 

I know the touch of love, on the hair; 
And the feel of love to the finger tips : 
Love, are you there? 

I know the look of love in the eyes: 
I know the sound of love to the ear: 

And the pulse of love in the heart's quick rise: 
Love, are you here? 

Find me not full in the arm's embrace, 
Hint of me here and sense of me there — 

But in answered thought, in the silences 
And the dreams you share. 



[39] 



LOVE SONGS 
I 

T^HERE are some things too wonderful to tell : 

Sunset, red-gold across a waveless sea, 
From pool to pool a glen-stream's revelry. 

The morning star's pale fire and breathless 
spell, 
And so I cannot say how wonderful you are. 

There are some things too beautiful to know: 
The silver song the shimmering planets sing, 

What the tall, bending birch is whispering, 
How sunlight kisses the sky buds ablow, 

So I can only guess your beauty from afar. 



[40] 



II 

Am I like a lily? 

Am I like a rose? 
You are like the white birch 

When no wind blows. 

Am I like the sunset? 

Am I like the dawn? 
You are like the crescent moon, 

And day scarce gone. 

Has your love no end? 

Has your love no let? 
My love is like the air you breathe. 

Which you forget. 

My love is like the earth 

You cannot choose but tread, 

Which still would hold you close 
Though you lay dead. 



[41] 



in 

Oh, I have kissed the feet of hills 
That were blue sisters to the sky. 

But what care hills that speak with clouds 
For such as I? 

Yet I have seen the hills look up 
In endless yearning to some star 

That walked the heavens, aloof and proud. 
As such things are. 

And I have sorrowed for the hills; 

Stars will not answer their desire. 
Or swerve to brush the highest peak's 

Upstraining spire. 

But love is mine and I have known 
More unimagined, breathless bliss, 

Than had the hills I loved erewhile 
Stooped to my kiss. 



[42] 



HAUNTED 

IV/fOONLIGHT gleams on the roofs like rain, 
Moonlight sleeps on the streets like snow, 
Moonlight stifles my heart with pain 
Wherever I go. 

Night, unfolding great lucent wings. 

Flower that blooms without sound or stir, 
Fill not my heart with ghosts of things 
That never were. 



[43] 



MOTILS 



[45] 



IN OTHER SPRINGS 

TN other springs, before I knew your love, 

Skies were as blue, as fragrant new cut grass; 
And furred hepaticas have come to pass 
With equal wonder, leaf-hid, in a grove. 
The dawn has crept as silently to know 
If bird songs would outlive her quaint surprise. 
And yet, with this new magic on my eyes, 
I can but marvel if it has been so. 

But this stills question; since at last I learn 
Colour afresh, music of wind and rain. 
Curve of a hill, call of a sky-ceiled lane, 
My ancient blindness never can return. 
May I not live to see, to touch, to hear 
What love has taught me, and not know you 
near. 



[47] 



A DRAUGHT SO PRECIOUS 

A DRAUGHT so precious you have offered me 

I dare not lift it now and take my fill, 
Lest I should prove to drink unworthily, 
I touch not the brimmed goblet, lest it spill. 
And yet you tempt me, holding patiently 
The ruddy potion, pleading with me still 
To drink, since you must bear eternally 
What none save I may taste, who never will. 

Nothing you ask of me? Then understand 
That one day you will seek me thirstily, 
Begging a single drop, and I would see 
The wind sip dry the wine cup in your hand. 
Rather than know my heart some day must 

break 
To see you die of thirst I cannot slake. 



[48] 



YOUR LOVE HAS COME BETWEEN US 
LIKE A BAR 

"Y^OUR love has come between us like a bar; 

Your fire has burned away our old content; 
And I can find no laughter where you are, 
Since lips were made for more than merriment. 
We found still beauty in a quiet star 
When once upon dear, friendly ways we went; 
Now stumbling words such still communions mar, 
And silence hurts the heart when words are spent. 

Once the quick, comrade pressure of my hand 
Told you my thought; yet now I dare not move 
To silent language, lest you understand 
More than I ever meant: Oh, what is love 
That steals a flower and leaves a restless fire 
And friends divided by a keen desire? 



[49] 



ONCE WHEN WE STOOD TOGETHER 
ON A HILL 

/^NCE when we stood together on a hill, 

And beauty faced us in the fresh surprise 
Of green fields among gold, autumn's deep skies, 
And purple, answering hills, I took my fill 
Of nature's outspread feast, and we were still, 
I worshipping the earth's long swell and rise 
— I had not then found heaven in your eyes — 
You in desire, unmoving and athrill. 

And then a voice not mine spoke in my heart. 

And fearing it, I turned to meet your look 

That was not on the hills. Swiftly I shook 

Myself to banal speech. I saw you start 

As I had called you from a sacrament. 

You answered hoarsely, and we turned and went. 



[50] 



I FOUND NO BEAUTY IN ME TILL YOU 
CAME 

T FOUND no beauty in me till you came, 

And then I only wondered, sometimes, why 
After brief looks, you turned away your eye, 
Hinting at speech your dumb lips could not frame, 
Until you told me, whispering a sweet name, 
How all the beauty in the world was I, 
And that your glance upon me was so shy. 
Loth to be seared in too-much-beauty's flame. 

Now I go proudly, with new dignity, 
And now I linger sometimes at my glass. 
For all night's stars are in my midnight hair, 
And in my dark eyes all night's mystery. 
So that I smile to see the people pass 
Who never guess the beauty that I bear. 



[51] 



THERE WAS A DAY I COULD NOT FIND 
YOU, DEAR 

'T'HERE was a day I could not find you, dear, 
Something within my very self went blind. 
I sought you in the sunshine, in the wind — 
I sought you in my heart — you were not here. 
And from your picture, suddenly austere. 
Reproachful eyes looked on me, to remind 
Me of our bond; your letters seemed but kind 
And pale, reread, and I grew dumb with fear. 

Till every doubt that ever touched your name 
Came creeping coldly to me, with a chill — 
"Can this be love that now its way retraces 
From fire to ice.'*" Then suddenly you came, 
And through my heart I felt the answer thrill: 
"There is no heaven but hath its silent spaces." 



52 



WHO WOULD HAVE GUESSED 

"Vl/'HO would have guessed four words, so 

quickly said, 
Could raise this wall between us? I, who 

knew 
Each thought of yours, look silently at you 
And only know some precious thing for dead. 
I wonder at your still, averted head, 
Your listless hands, grope for a word or two. 
And ponder, aching, if the thing be true 
I told you, or the thing you answered. 

And when you go, night closes swiftly in. 
Sleepless and sob-wracked, with no memory 
Of any beauty; and strange forms begin 
To whisper death the only path for me. 
For in this dark and doorless room of sorrow 
Is no dear past, and no fresh-eyed tomorrow. 



53 



"YOU ARE MY DREAM," YOU SAID 

""V^OU are my dream," you said; and in my 

hand, 
Trusting me silently, you laid the key 
Of all you were and all you hoped to be. 
And I smiled up and tried to understand 
How you were mine to shape and to command. 
I took your thousand kisses wonderingly 
And hid them in my heart where none might see, 
Then of my heart made voiceless, fierce demand. 

Finding no answer there, you forth I sent 

And locked you out from me, — and yet not 

quite. 
Your anguish wrung my spirit when you went 
And I could feel you groping in the night. 
Till sudden knowledge shook me from my pain. 
I opened wide and called you back again. 



54] 



WHEN I HAVE FOLLOWED DAY-LONG, 
DUSTY WAYS 

"VVTHEN I have followed day-long, dusty ways, 
Dull lakes have tempted me, and streams 
unsure, 
Dark pools, too weedy-shallow to be pure. 
But thirst-companioned have I trod my days. 
Half, only cautious, half as one who plays 
Self-enemied, I said: "I will endure 
Until day's end has brought the perfect cure. 
And conquer thirst, though merciless he flays." 

And I have come at last with whole desire 
To quenching draughts of unguessed purity. 
I know the joy of souls set swiftly free 
After long torture of slow eating fire. 
So have I kept my heart's long thirst; Oh friend 
You are my brimming cup, my journey's end! 



[55] 



IMPERFECTION 

"V^OU are not perfect. Who am I to ask 

To see all good reflected in your face? 
Who sets a candle in the heaven's wide space? 
And who mates beauty's self with beauty's 

mask? 
Had you fulfilled your each appointed task, 
And steady walked each way you had to trace, 
And had you won unfaltering every race, 
What nectar had you found in my faint flask? 

Nay, for our imperfections rather, love 
Has made us one, that I to you might give. 
And you to me; and that we thus might live, 
Each helping other; living thus might prove 
That double imperfection, striving up 
May kiss at last perfection's brimming cup. 



56] 



WERE YOU BUT HERE, COMPANION OF 
MY HEART 

TV/^ERE you but here, companion of my heart, 
To see that hill, beyond dark tree tops set, 
Dim slowly to mysterious violet, 
Or with a passing cloud to pale gold start — 
Could you but watch the ever-changing art 
Of cloud flocks, flushing, paling, without let, 
And pines that lift their quivering heads to get 
The last gold drop e'er earth and sun must part — 

Were you but here, oh dreamer of my dreams, 
(Even the free wind worships and is still) 
Were you but here, and by my side might sit 
(I learned all beauty from your lips, it seems) 
Wordless, I'd point you to that changing hill. 
But you, I think, would never look at it. 



[57] 



ONE DAY I GAVE YOU AN OLD MEMORY 

/^NE day I gave you an old memory 

Of horror, that unstilled by night or day, 
Kept pace with me and would not go away, 
Chilling me in dim places stealthily. 
Tainting my sunshine, leering close at me, 
Stalking my dreams, halting me from my 

play: 
Horror that choked me till I could not pray, 
Horror that hugged me till I could not see. 

And speaking I had turned aside my head, 
Lest It should come between us. My tongue 

drew 
The words slow-footed from my heart. Half- 
said 
You stopped my tale, and turned my face to 

you. 
"And then?" you said. But memory had gone 
And you and love and I stood all alone. 



[58] 



HOW OFTEN HAVE WE TOUCHED LOVE'S 
BOUNDARY 

"tlOW often have we touched love's boundary — 
Or so our untaught spirits made us guess — 
Greater, we said, there is no happiness; 
Here is love's pinnacle, and here are we. 
Perfect in love, from all save love set free; 
No need to question or to answer "yes" 
— Tongues need not say what meeting lips 

confess — 
In this our moment of high ecstasy. 

Yet some but half-heard word, some swift met 

thought 
Has opened wide another unguessed door 
And what seemed happiness to us before 
Pales in this unconceived joy to naught. 
Each moment only is supreme to prove 
The coming of a fuller hour of love. 



[59] 



HURT NOT MY HEART WITH TOO MUCH 
BEAUTY, NIGHT 

LJURT not my heart with too much beauty^ 

night. 
Asleep along the moon-gold fields of snow 
That, rising like a pale, vast ocean, flow 
To the hill's crest, poised, lustreful, and white, 
Breathless restoring the serene stars' light. 
Move, ocean, masted with tall stems that throw 
Tense, sharp-cut shadows, dark with indigo. 
Break, silent wave, or break my heart, delight . 

Merciless beauty, may this half-heart dare 
Thy instant presence .f* Must I watch alone 
Thy face unveiled.? Then, since thou wilt not 

spare, 
Give me my heart's completion in that one 
Whose coming stills thy ache and gives me 

peace 
To bear thy wonder's thousandfold increase. 



[60] 



SINCE WORDS ARE NOT 

"Y^OU, since no arms could hold, no lips could 

press 
Close as our close-knit spirits, which are one. 
Halted the fiercfe embrace you had begun, 
Held me half-near, kissed me with gentleness; 
Yet wakened with your flower-light caress 
Joy that did former rapture all outrun. 
Here source-fire of the quiet lying sun. 
Here strength of silent sea tides, I could guess. 

And I, since words are not that can reveal 
Half the heart-shaking wonder that I feel. 
Give you no answer, asking love of me. 
But eyes unveiled, lips that move silently. 
All youth, all love, all life were made for 

this, 
The wordless moment of the spirit's kiss. 



61] 



WHAT WITHOUT LAUGHTER WERE OUR 
LOVE TODAY? 

"Vl/'HAT without laughter were our love today? 
There was a time when weariness had stirred 
Unclear my vision, some unguarded word 
Had all but set me under anger's sway. 
And then your eyes caught mine, and seemed to 

say, 
"What? Thought so little trouble to have 

blurred 
Our so great love? Well, isn't that absurd?" 
Mirth, like a fresh wind, drove the mists away. 

And once, when love had grown too fiercely 

sweet 
Almost for bearing, yet all life were vain, 
Clear of your arms, free of the hot swift rain 
Of your dear kisses, I was brave to meet 
Your glance, and share with you the glad sur- 
prise 
Of saving laughter answering my eyes. 



[62] 



ONE LACK I HAVE 

/^NE lack I have, one dream not satisfied, 

(And will it ever be?) to make you know 
What never silence, speech, caress can show, 
The depths of love which once I sought to hide. 
Now grown so great that like a rising tide. 
Thwarted, they beat upon me with their flow 
Of ecstasy, and every day I go 
Seeking some key to set my flood gates wide. 

Yet in my heart, I know that this is best; 
Love grows not dull that still is love in quest. 
That want is dearest that finds scanty food, 
And love were little were it understood. 
Our souls would shrivel in us could we dare 
Full, sudden sight of all the love we bear. 



63] 



WAS EVER LOVE SO WONDERFUL AS 
THIS? 

VIT'AS ever love so wonderful as this? 
Do others in so sober a disguise 
Walk golden pavements under sapphire skies. 
Drunk with unspoken words, elate with bliss? 
Has self so lost itself in any kiss? 
Stars answered so to stars in shining eyes? 
Or in such blithe forgetting to be wise 
Have others scorned love's least delight to miss? 

Lovers half -seen in spring-enchanted park, 
Drawn each to eager each in the kind dark; 
Illumined faces glimpsed, and hardly-heard. 
Tense voices breaking on a low-pitched word 
Have waked my jealous wonder. Has this 

band 
Loved as we love, and do they understand? 



[64] 



TODAY THE RIVERS IN THE STREETS 
RAN BLUE 

npODAY the rivers in the streets ran blue. 
Tumultuous mirrors of too wide a sky. 
And in the parks, where shade is wont to lie, 
Snow's azure kindled to a blinding hue. 
Tonight in gold, diminished curves anew. 
Lamps woke to mock the white faced moon on 

high: 
Spires yearned to heaven, heaven touched them 

in reply, 
And my heart raced across the miles to you. 

Here in this room, where door and blind 

remain 
To shut out beauty, and you cannot be. 
Exultant knowledge stops to comfort me: 
Beauty stays not, but changing, comes again, 
And years in scores are still for us to share. 
Brushed by her fingers, dazzled by her hair. 



[65] 



SOMETIMES WHEN THROUGH RE- 
SOUNDING STREETS WE GO 

COMETIMES when through resounding 

streets we go, 
In the dense shelter of a restless crowd, 
Love in your eyes cries out to me aloud. 
And love in mine calls back; sudden and low, 
Your voice puts cheek and pulses in fierce 

glow. 
And half abashed, while yet so wholly proud, 
I fancy, though my head be swiftly bowed, 
All see and guess — yet less surmise than know. 

Oh, do they know? Or do they only rush. 
Earth chained, upon their unillumined way? 
Dusty gold-getters, I will make you wise. 
Square your limp shoulders, lift your wrinkled 

eyes, 
Learn by my quickened pace, my hidden flush, 
How near you were to joy's hot heart today. 



66] 



WITH WHAT DULL DRUGS 

"VVTITH what dull drugs do I conspire to still 
My heart that cries for you incessantly: 
Drowned in the clacking keys' monotony, 
Stabbed by a pen, crushed in the ruthless mill 
Of sleep and eat and work and eat, until 
I seem almost to have the mastery 
Of my fierce want, and you become to me 
An image lost like sun behind a hill. 

One note of music's delicate suspense, 

A lilac cloud ending my avenue, 

A child's brown hand, a lover's voice, a verse. 

Wrecks suddenly my slowly wrought defense, 

And once again I face my dearest curse, 

The priceless agony of wanting you. 



[67] 



LOVE CANNOT BE BELIEVED 

T OVE cannot be believed, but must too much 
Be said and said again; we grope our way 
Only by what our eyes and lips may say; 
And though these promise, hands reach out with 

such 
Piteous entreaty, with such straining clutch 
Tell their white-knuckled tale. Why do we pay 
Love's lodging, all too wisely, day by day? 
Faith, stand alone, and toss aside your crutch! 

Be our white, steadfast star, a lover's song 
Hummed in our hearts; and we will watch 

serene 
Fate fling her little oceans in between, 
Glad and secure in love; though we may long 
Vvith longing we have yet to understand. 
For eyes and lips and the out-yearning hand. 



[68] 



I AM AT REST IN YOU 

T AM at rest in you as housetops drowned 

In mistless moonlight, when no wind creeps 
free 

To blur one leaf's rapt, silver ecstasy. 

I am at peace as petals that have found 

Their falling sweet and haven on the ground. 

I am at peace in you. Then suddenly 

Storm breaks; flame sears; winds scourge; all 
love in me 

Flares to the fury, splendid, fierce, unbound. 

I am ablaze with you; the lightning darts. 
Quivers, and cleaves the heaped, tumultuous 

sky; 
Flame leaps to meet it, and that flame is I. 
And this mad conflagration our two hearts. 
But storms will pass, blue skies again be gay. 
And we two children on a sunny day. 



[69] 



